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I was left with more than a split dress to worry about.
    I’d thought my embarrassment couldn’t get any deeper.
    Turned out I’d been wrong about that, too.

Chapter Four
    ‘Best wedding ever .’ It was Christmas Eve and Rosie was stretching on the living room floor, surrounded by half-wrapped Christmas presents. She spent a lot of time stretching. I’d learned to give her a wide berth because there had been more than one occasion when I’d moved too close and ended up with her foot in my face. She’d started karate at the age of six, then she’d added in Muay Thai when she was eighteen and met— But I wasn’t allowed to mention him. Let’s just say we call him He Who Shall Not Be Named (and he’s not that Voldemort guy from Harry Potter , although from the smile on my sister’s face at the time I think he might have had a magic wand hidden somewhere).
    ‘Glad you were entertained.’
    Snow drifted lazily past the windows. The streets of London were white and everyone was wrapped up against the cold in bright scarves and outrageous hats. That was one of the many things I loved about living in London. People weren’t afraid to dress creatively, especially where we lived. In Notting Hill we were surrounded by artists, musicians and writers. And my angel-faced, karate-loving, kick-boxing sister.
    I snuggled deeper into the sofa, my laptop balanced on my thighs because I couldn’t be bothered to walk to the table and anyway, it saved on heating bills. ‘Can we stop talking about the wedding?’
    She’d been laughing non-stop for the past three days.
    Sisterly love was wearing thin.
    I pretended to be absorbed by my laptop, but if I was honest I’d barely done any work since we’d arrived home from the wedding. I couldn’t concentrate. My brain was jammed up with the hottest memory of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him . Mostly about the way Mr Super Cool had gone from ignoring me to virtually having sex with me. The change in him had been shocking and, well, exciting. What wasn’t so exciting was the fact it had been interrupted and there was no chance of a repeat performance, which basically meant I was doomed to die of sexual frustration. Not that I hadn’t tried to do something about that, but no vibrator was ever going to come close to the unique bedroom talents of Nico Rossi. It was like watching a boxed set, ending an episode on a cliffhanger and then realizing you’d lost the final DVD. I desperately wanted to know what happened next.
    But I was never going to because Nico hadn’t liked me before the wedding, so he was going to like me even less since I ruined the day and walked off with his Tom Ford.
    For a couple of days I’d nurtured a fantasy he might contact me, but of course he hadn’t. Real life is a split dress and embarrassment, not a hot guy ringing you.
    I answered another email, trying to block out the memory of the wedding. I’d scoured YouTube for days, checking that no one had uploaded a video of my dizzying descent into ignominy. So far all seemed well, but if I could have dug a hole and lived underground for a while, I would have done. ‘Why the hell did you have to walk in when you did?’
    ‘Why the hell didn’t you lock the door if you were planning to have sex? I’ve wrapped a load of “spare” presents by the way. They’re the ones without labels.’ She spun and kicked, almost removing a lamp from the table. If the lamp had been a person, it would have been unconscious. And she wondered why men were intimidated by her. Sex with my sister could probably have been classified as a lethal sport.
    And talking of sex…
    ‘We weren’t having sex!’ I watched as Rosie paused to arrange the presents in a pile under the perfectly shaped fir tree we’d picked up from the garden centre. I would have had a fake one, but she said we had so much fake in our life growing up, we deserved the real thing. Personally I didn’t see anything romantic about